


The Wands Choose

by CaptainErica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, More characters to come, Wands, or witch, the wand chooses the wizard, this is just the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainErica/pseuds/CaptainErica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Individual, and short, looks at how different visits to Ollivander's wand shop progressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hermione Granger

**Author's Note:**

> Hermione's is quite the longest so far, so I apologize in advance.

On Monday, the 17th of June, at precisely 6:00pm, there was a knock on the front door of the Granger household. This knock had been both eagerly awaited and dreaded by the residents of the house ever since a letter had arrived the Friday prior. The letter had had no postage, and only an oddly specific address (Hermione Jean Granger, the bedroom at the top of the stairs…). But the letter itself was even more unusual.

As he had carefully ( _yes, Hermione, I’m being careful not to break it_ ) pulled the seal from the back of the envelope, Mr. Granger could barely imagine what was inside. He had his fears, of course; what if they’ve a stalker? Or something equally unsavory? But inside the thick envelope was a single piece of thick paper with a crest at the top and a short but alarming note at the middle.

                HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A Professor will be by on 17 June at precisely 6:00pm to discuss your upcoming tutelage.

 

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 

Mr. Granger had read, and re-read, the letter three times before he allowed Hermione to take it from his suddenly limp hands. The truth of the matter was, that while most ‘normal’ men in his position would consider this an elaborate joke put on by their daughter’s friends, or even some type of strange but amusing party invite that they would let their wives worry about later, Mr. Granger knew better. It was only barely after 4:00pm and his wife wouldn’t be home from their dental practice for another hour or more, which left Mr. Granger with plenty of time to dwell on the situation at hand before he had to re-hash it all with her.

The problem with assuming that this letter was a hoax, was that it would ignore the rather blatant fact that young Hermione Granger was about as unusual as unusual got for 11-year-old children. Firstly, while it could be said that this letter was a blatant hoax concocted by some ill-meaning person as Hermione had very few, if any, good friends, this would be a rather strange and roundabout way of causing her to be upset. Secondly, seeing as she really had very few friends that Mr. Granger could even begin to picture, let alone name, he was certain it wasn’t an elaborately themed party invite. Thirdly, strange things often happened to, and around, his daughter.

It felt like it had been her whole young life that these things had happened, but it had really only started when she had been almost four. A naturally precocious child, Hermione had started talking rather early and was very adept at speaking by that age. Along with her speaking abilities came the tendency for weird things to happen around her. It wasn't uncommon to find her favorite bedtime story across the room from where it had been left, or for doors she wanted to go through to mysteriously unlock.

It was the tea cups shaking during unexpected tantrums and the electricity blinking in and out when she was crying that really started to warm Mr. Granger and his wife to the thought that something weird was going on, and that maybe some of the other unexplainable things had to do with this. The letter, then, gave some sort of solid reasoning: Hermione Granger possessed magical powers. This, of course, didn’t really explain everything and very well could still all just be a hoax, but it was with the hope that their daughter was just a different type of normal that stopped him from telling her not to get too excited.

Mr. Granger would not be the person to break the news to Mrs. Granger about the fact that their daughter might well be a witch. With letter in hand, Hermione had greeted her mother at the door.

“Look mum! I’m not weird, I’m a witch!”

Mrs. Granger, while initially shocked by her daughter’s declaration, was able to steer the conversation away from the letter until Hermione had been sent to bed, it was only then that she cast her husband a look and they sat down to talk the whole situation out.

The weekend had been long, and Hermione had not once forgotten about the 6:00pm meeting that was looming closer and closer as the weekend progressed. It was only her disapproval of disobeying her parents that kept her in her chair when her father got up to answer the door.

Mr. Granger opened the door to find a tall woman who was definitely his senior in age by any number of years. She was wearing what could only be described as ‘robes’ though he hadn’t seen any outside of pictures in history books so he really couldn’t be certain.

“Hello, Mr. Granger? I’m Professor Vector.” She says, and Mr. Granger nods, greets her, and welcomes her into the house.

They are sitting at the table and Hermione can barely contain herself.

“After her first sign of magic, her name was put down on a list that is kept at the school. When the children on the list turn eleven, the Headmaster and Deputy look over said list and prepare letters for the different students.” Professor Vector was saying. The meeting was going rather pleasantly so far, though they had yet to receive any hard proof that this woman was, in fact, a witch. “For the students who are from magical families, the letter includes the supply list, and they do not receive a visit.”

This seems rather logical to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. However, they do not mention this fact.

“I am here to help you understand that your daughter has special gifts, and that those strange things that happen when she sad, scared, or angry are normal parts of her development.” Professor Vector looks fondly down at Hermione, who was still patiently sitting in her seat, her eyes wide and her face earnest. “However, it is important that she go to school and learn how to channel her magical abilities. Without training her magic will remain unpredictable, and can become dangerous if not harnessed.”

“Why do you wait until eleven?” Mrs. Granger asks.

“There are a number of reasons, one of the most important of which is that it gives the students a chance to show they have magical abilities.” She says, and then expands with: “Most people show some type of magical ability by this age, it is extremely rare for it to develop any later.”

The session went on like that for quite a while, until just after they made plans to meet again to go shopping for Hermione’s school supplies.

“Professor, if you would, could you show us some magic?” Hermione asked as politely as she could muster.

Professor Vector smiled indulgently at her, and with a flourish drew her wand from up her sleeve and pointed it at the tea set before them. “Wingardium Leviosa.” She said very purposefully, and the set rose rather gracefully off of the table and hovered there. “Just as a final reminder, students are not allowed to do magic outside of school, and almost never in front of muggles.” She says with a wink, before settling the set back down onto the table. “Until next time.” She says, and they say their goodbyes.

~

It’s a Tuesday in mid-July when Professor Vector shows up on their doorstep again.

“We’ll be going to Diagon Alley, here in London. It is the easiest place to get all of the things from the list. I will take you to the bank and show you around and then you can have the rest of the day to shop together.” She says. Professor Vector was all business, and Mrs. Granger wondered if she had a lot of students to attend to.

“How many students like me do you have to meet every summer?” Hermione asks, and Mrs. Granger smiles at her daughter.

“It depends on the year and how many of us are busy, but this year I’ve visited six.” She says, and Hermione nods.

Diagon Alley was accessed, they soon learned, through a dingy pub that they honestly would have walked straight past if they hadn’t been dragged in by Hermione on the heels of Professor Vector. It was exceptionally unassuming and apparently it was supposed to be like that. Through a brick wall that turned into an archway behind the pub is where they came face-to-face with the wizarding world en masse. There was quite a lot to see, and it was almost overwhelming to wander through the bustling main street toward a large, white, and slightly haphazard looking building.

“We’ll simply exchange money today, when you come next year you can consider an account.” Vector says, leading them through the doors and into a vast hall filled with what they could only assume were goblins.

It was probably the most uncomfortable and confusing moment of their lives, but they hadn’t any time to process it as they were rushed out of the bank ( _“Gringotts, did you say?”)_ and back out onto the bustling street. Here, Professor Vector pulled out Hermione’s school list and showed it to them.

“All of these books can be found in Flourish and Blott’s. You need only tell a shopkeeper that she is a first year and they will take care of you. Madame Malkin’s sells robes, again, she’ll know exactly what to get as long as you say she’s a first year at Hogwarts.” She went through the whole list, and Mrs. Granger was grateful that the Professor had thought to write the names of the shops down on the list as well. “And finally,” She adds after a number of other shops were mentioned, “is the wand. Wands are exceptionally important, I’d only trust Ollivander’s; His are the best quality you will find anywhere. Make sure to leave at least an hour for that.” She says. “And this is where I leave you! I will see you again Ms. Granger on September the 1st. Do you remember how to get onto the platform?”

Hermione smiles up at the professor, “Yes, I must walk swiftly through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 at King’s Cross Station.”

“Correct! Have a wonderful rest of the day.” She says with a slight nod, before turning and disappearing down the street.

“So,” Mr. Granger says after a deep breath. “Where to first?”

They spent half an hour at Madame Malkin’s for her robe fittings, and a scant fifteen minutes in the potions supplies shop ( _“it smells awful!”_ ), before spending well over an hour in Flourish and Blott’s stocking up on not only her school books, but anything relevant.

“What would you suggest for someone who is just coming in to this whole thing?” Mr. Granger had asked one of the assistants after he had grabbed them the books Hermione would need for school.

“Ah, muggleborn.” The young man had said thoughtfully, before turning to eye a couple of shelves. “Come with me.” He’d pulled down a rather heavy book called _Hogwarts, A History_. “This is a great read and a good investment if you want to know anything about how the school works. I’d also suggest,” He says, placing the book in Hermione’s eager hands before reaching across to another shelf and pulling out a slightly slimmer set of books. “These here are on recent developments and contemporary history, their worth a read if you’re interested in an understanding of what has happened in the last decade or so.”

They left with those and quite a few more, and so it was with heavy bags that they sat at a small outdoor café and ate lunch while Hermione flicked through a couple of the books.

“This says that Ollivander’s uses only three types of wand cores, and only uses the finest woods to craft their wands.” She says without looking up from _Notable Wizards and Witches of the 20 th Century_. “It says that each wand has its own kind of personality, oh mum, dad, this is so fascinating!” She cries, looking up at them excitedly.

After a couple more stops, they finally found themselves in front of Ollivander’s shop. It was old, and there was a single wand on a battered and dusty-looking cushion in the front window. The shop was empty when they entered, and the walls were covered in shelves that were filled with boxes. The shelves made the small place seem even smaller, and the quiet was a little unsettling. The whole shop made Mr. and Mrs. Granger a little unsettled, but Hermione seemed merely curious.

“Ah, what have we here?” A voice calls from the back. It was light and old sounding, and it barely lifted the quiet from the shop. “A first year, maybe?” The voice asks, and out of the dark of the shop comes a tall older man with big eyes and a frail-looking body.

“Yes, sir.” Hermione responds, stepping closer. The man looks up at her parents, nervously standing close to the door, and then back down at Hermione.

“Muggleborn?” He asks, and Hermione nods. “Excellent, excellent.” He says, and he does seem truly delighted. “A blank slate at last!” He says with a small and moves forward and around the counter to stop directly in front of her. “Name?” he inquires.

“Hermione Granger, sir.” She says with a slight nod of her head. He smiles at her and then nods.

“Quick, which arm is your wand arm?” He asks, and Hermione tilts her head to the side.

“Well, I’m quite sure I don’t know as I’ve never held a wand before.” She says, and instead of looking affronted like her parents imagined he might, he seemed to look even more delighted.

“Good answer, hold out your arms, I need to take some measurements.” He says, before pulling out a small measuring tape and stretching it from fingertip to fingertip. “Perfect,” He says, and suddenly the measuring tape is taking all sorts of measurements without him even holding it as he disappears into the back of the shop.

“How do you find a wand for a person?” Hermione asks, and the old man barely turns his head to answer.

“I look for the right signs.” He says, “And I’m Ollivander, by the way. It is a pleasure to welcome you into my shop.” He was pulling boxes down from shelves behind the counter, but he kept turning to look further back along the wall. He comes around the counter and places the boxes on a rickety chair by the window before snapping his fingers, which causes the measuring tape to fall to the floor.

He grabs a box, and gently pulls out the wand within. “Walnut, swishy, Dragon heartstring.” He says simply, handing to Hermione, who holds it for a second before gently raising it into the air. She’d barely gotten it up to chest level when it was snatched back and Ollivander was pressing another one into her hands, his head turning toward the same spot in the back that he’d been looking at earlier. “Walnut, Unicorn tail hair.” He says shortly, and when Hermione raises the wand this time, he peers at it closely before ripping it away from her. “Walnut, 10 inches, whippy.” He says, and she barely has her fist closed around the handle before it’s pulled away.

“But sir, I don’t understand how this works.” Hermione says, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger have to agree, they are truly quite baffled. “I can’t do it right if I don’t know how to do it.” She adds, and Mr. Ollivander gives her a soft look before turning on his heel and heading behind the desk.

“The wand chooses the witch, Ms. Granger, it is important to note that. It takes a lot of work to make a good wand,” He starts, pulling down another two boxes before changing his mind and putting them back. “There are some woods that are rarer than others, and some that really only work with some people. But the important thing is to not take a wand that hasn't chosen you.” He calls from the back, where he grabs a box and comes forward.

“Wands have personalities, if you will, and it just so happens that some of them can tell when the correct owner is near.” He opens the box in his hands and holds it out for Hermione to look inside.

Set into the velvet of the box was a wand that looked very much like a vine of some sort. When she reached her hand out toward it, gold sparks started to trickle out of the tip. She pulled her hand back and looked up at the wand maker.

“Is that normal?” She breathes, and he smiles wide.

“Vine, Dragon heart-string, 10 and three-quarter inches.” He says, and gestures for her to take it. When she lifts it out of the box, a powerful glow envelopes her, and a huge smile comes over her face. “Just as I thought.” He says, taking the wand from her gently and placing it back in the box, he wraps it up nicely behind the desk, and beckons Hermione closer. “Vine wood is a very uncommon wand wood, and I make very few.” Hermione nods, soaking up the information like it was gold. “They have been known to emit some type of magical effect when their true owner walks into the room…I’ve only seen it in here once before, but the second you walked in, it rattled in its case and kept trying to get my attention!”

Hermione smiles brightly, and he places the package in her hands as she hands him 7 Galleons.

“Remember to treat it well, and it will work wonders for you.” He says just above a whisper, before nodding to her parents and disappearing into the back again.

“I’ve got a magic wand.” She says, looking up at her parents by the door.


	2. Draco Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's mother had tried to choose a good wand for him...

“Aspen, Draco darling, try the aspen wand first.” Mrs. Malfoy says, pointing at one of the boxes laid out on the counter.

Draco had spent the morning rather leisurely retrieving the things needed for his forthcoming first year of school. Once he’d finished with his robe-fittings, Draco’s father had come to get him and they’d gone to meet his mother at Ollivander’s where she had been looking at wands for him.

“Dragon heartstring?” Mr. Malfoy asks, and Ollivander, who was quietly standing behind the counter, his hands behind his back and his large eyes trained on Draco, nods vaguely.

Draco felt a bit of trepidation take hold as he reaches forward toward the wand his mother had pointed out. He picks it up and is almost instantly disappointed; he felt nothing. He looks sharply up at Ollivander who takes the wand out of his hand and shoves the next one at him.

“Elm, Dragon heartstring…” He says, his voice wispy and Draco finds it deeply discomfiting. “Give it a wave.” The old man says, as Draco just stands there with the wand, waiting.

Nothing happens, and Ollivander makes a tutting noise before pulling the wand from Draco’s grip. “Won’t do….won’t do.” He mutters, hurrying down one of the rows of shelves toward the back. “Too long…too short…too whippy…” They can hear him saying as he runs his long thin fingers along the different boxes.

“Aspen or Elm, really, Mr. Ollivander.” Mr. Malfoy calls to the old man.

He comes back to the front rather quickly after that, with three more wands: two aspen, one elm. Draco is almost disappointed that the creepy old man had listened to his father so easily, but then he remembered that Aspen and Elm were very good wand woods that he should be proud of owning.

“Aspen, Phoenix feather, springy.” Ollivander says, pushing the box toward Draco who picks it up eagerly. Phoenix tail feather was a good core…it was noble even!

He’d barely had the wand in his hand for three seconds before it was snatched away from him by Ollivander with a loud tutting sound. “Aspen, Unicorn hair, 9 inches.” He says, and Draco wonders how he remembers them all without even having to look.

He’d barely touched the wand when it was snatched back this time. “Nope, no, won’t do.” Ollivander mutters, seeming to hesitate over the final wand before holding it out. “Elm, unicorn hair.” He says, and Draco picks it up, wondering if Unicorn tail hair was as good as dragon heartstring, or if his father would be disappointed if this was his.

He needn’t have worried, the wand apparently didn’t want him, and Ollivander snatched it back and put it away before peering curiously into Draco’s eyes. “What?” He asks, confused and a little alarmed.

“Nothing, nothing…” Ollivander sighs, nodding to himself before heading back behind the counter.

Draco can hear his parents talking quietly behind him, somewhere toward the door of the shop, they’d moved back while he was trying the second round of wands. He feels a bit of annoyance at his parents for this, and maybe the old man. What was the point in his mother looking at wands if the ones she’d chosen didn’t work? He glared sullenly at the two wands as the old man muttered on (“Not phoenix, no, no, goodness no.”). Somewhere deep inside, Draco wondered if the old man even knew what he was doing. Obviously he couldn’t if he’d have allowed his mother to pick such faulty wands.

“Try this.” Ollivander says suddenly. He was behind the counter again, holding out a wand for Draco to grab. “Hawthorn and Unicorn hair.” He says gently, and Draco takes the wand.

It was sudden and surprising; like ice falling down your back, or water being dumped on your head…except it wasn’t unpleasant. There was a shower of sparks from the tip of the wand, and his mother clapped her hands behind him.

“Oh! Your very first wand, Draco darling!” She coos, and he feels a smile cross his face.

“Excellent, excellent.” Ollivander says, bustling forward with a speed that Draco felt he shouldn’t be able to achieve at his age. “Strange mixture, Hawthorn and Unicorn hair…” He says, his eyes seeming to peer directly into Draco’s very soul again. “You’ll find it to be very good at healing charms, as well as dueling and defense…” He adds, and Draco feels a smug smile crossing his face.

He had a great wand, he could feel it.

“Unicorn hair? Not bad…” Mr. Malfoy mutters as he drops a number of galleons onto the counter as Ollivander wraps up the wand. “Come Draco, we must keep moving, I’ve a meeting soon.”


	3. Ron Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron's new wand.

“Ah, and what is your name, Mr. Weasley?” Ollivander asks. He had walked out from behind the counter just as Ron and his father had walked into the store.

Ron blushes deeply, “Ron,” He mutters, feeling uncomfortable under the direct gaze of the old man in front of him.

“Excellent, excellent.” Ollivander says, pulling out his measuring tape and gesturing for Ron to hold out his wand arm. “Your last wand?” He asks, and Ron feels his ears grow hot in embarrassment.

“My brother, Charlie’s, sir.” He says, wondering where his father had gone. It was terribly embarrassing, in his mind, to be getting his first actual wand just before his third year.

Mr. Weasley, as it happened, was standing by the door with his arms crossed and a big smile on his face. He was terribly pleased by the fact that he could get Ron a proper wand of his own. It wasn’t lost on him how hand-me-down wands wouldn’t work as well as a wand that really chose you.

“Ah, yes, Unicorn tail hair, ash, 12 inches?” Ollivander asks, and Ron nods as the measuring tape measures between his eyebrows. “That’s enough!” he says irritably, waving his hand at the measuring tape which drops into a heap on the floor as he walks away.

“Unicorn hair, unicorn hair…” Ollivander mutters to himself as he wanders over to the left side of the room. “Not ash, no, terrible choice.” He throws a look over at Ron who was fidgeting in the silence of the shop. “Hmm,” He says, eyes narrowing briefly before reaching up to grab a dark blue box. He comes back to Ron and slowly opens the box, before training his eyes on Ron’s. “Willow, unicorn hair, 14 inches.” He says, and Ron reaches forward a little tentatively.

The second it is in his hand, he feels it; a tingling sensation deep within his bones. A shower of sparks erupts from the end, and he can hear his father _whooping_ excitedly in the background. He knows almost instantly that this is it; there is no other wand for him, not right now at least. He thinks back on Charlie’s old wand, broken and sparking, and wonders at how he was able to use it at all.

“That should serve you nicely.” Ollivander says with a smile, before turning his eyes on Mr. Weasley who’d stepped forward to pay. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in this shop.” It’s not unkind, how he says it, but Mr. Weasley’s ears still burn pink at the tips.

“Yes sir, takes time to get around to these things.” He mutters, dropping the money owed into Mr. Ollivander’s hand.

“Good day, and good luck!” Ollivander calls, his voice wispy and light as they push the door open and exit the shop.

“I can’t wait to show mum!” Ron beams, and Mr. Weasley tousles his hair.

“Of course, of course.” He says good-naturedly as they wander down the bustling main street of Diagon Alley. “What else was on your list?”


End file.
